


Show Me What I Chose

by BlessedAreTheFandoms



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bisexual Julian Bashir, DS9 season 4, Enterprise season 2, First Kiss, Julian has a crush on everyone, M/M, Relationship Advice, Science by a non-scientist, Time Travel, Transporter Malfunction, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedAreTheFandoms/pseuds/BlessedAreTheFandoms
Summary: When Julian Bashir gets accidentally yanked backwards to the Enterprise NX-01, he has to figure out how to help the crew help him get back home.  As he tries not to contaminate their timeline by talking about Deep Space 9, however, he talks about some of the people in his life--and the Enterprise crew begins to connect some dots for Julian about who, exactly, he's missing from his own century.(Written for the Just in Time Fest)
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Hoshi Sato, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Phlox (one-sided), Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 68
Kudos: 100
Collections: Star Trek: Just in Time Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have long been fascinated by the idea of putting Phlox and Julian in a room together and this prompt festival was the best spur to do it, so thank you to ConceptaDecency, StarTravel, and Aidaran for putting it together.
> 
> The title is taken from the Sea Wolf song [Dear Fellow Traveler](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUw1e7vvSRY).

Dr. Julian Bashir was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the obvious displeasure of his lunch companion. “You see,” he said, catching a breath and trying to form a coherent sentence, “what he _meant_ was—”

“Dr. Bashir to medical emergency in Quark’s,” chirped a voice from Julian’s combadge.

Julian threw an apologetic look across the table and dashed off, his long legs carrying him briskly across the Promenade and away from the sigh of resignation from Elim Garak sitting still behind him.

“What’s the emergency?” Julian asked as he entered Quark’s and pushed his way through the gathered crowd. He held steady as the station tilted and righted itself, another in a series of shakes that morning that left everyone unsettled.

“Ruptured plasma relay,” said Miles O’Brien as Julian knelt next to him and the crew member writhing on the floor. “This damned ion storm is making the systems go haywire and one of them overloaded.”

Julian looked over the burns on the crewman and tapped his combadge. “Emergency medical transport; two to beam out.” Miles stepped back as the pair shimmered into light—

\--and Julian pitched forward onto his hands on an unfamiliar surface. A transporter pad? He looked up and met the very confused eyes of a man he’d never seen before in a blue jumpsuit with red trim.

“Captain,” the man said as he tapped a button on the panel in front of him. “There’s been a problem. Please come to the transport room.”

Julian stood, dusting himself off. “I don’t know what happened, but I need to get to the infirmary.” He suddenly found himself staring down a—was that a phase pistol? It looked like an antique, bizarrely situated in this already strange situation.

“You’ll stay where you are,” the man in blue said.

“Look, I have a patient—”

“ _Where you are_.”

Julian knew better than to argue with that tone, patient or no—and he was beginning to think he wasn’t anywhere near Deep Space Nine to be helpful to the patient, anyway. He looked around the room to try and get his bearings. That the man in blue was human was somewhat reassuring, although it wasn’t impossible that he was a changeling. This seemed elaborate even for the Founders, but Julian wasn’t about to discount the possibility. The pad on which he stood reminded him of the transporter room on the _Enterprise_ when they had docked at the station several years ago, but it wasn’t quite right. He looked at the man again—there was a patch on his sleeve, what…?

Oh. Oh, no. Julian hadn’t paid as much attention in his history courses as he should have, perhaps, but he recognized that patch. He recognized this configuration. And if he was right, then the captain was—

“What’s going on, Malcolm?” said Jonathan Archer as he entered, and Julian closed his eyes and groaned. It was going to be a very long day.

“Sir, there was a momentary glitch in the transporter beam as I was working on compressing it and then—well, then _he_ appeared.” The man named Malcolm gestured to Julian.

Archer took a step toward the transporter pad and Malcolm stepped with him protectively; security, Julian felt part of his mind register, even though he was in command red. _The colors changed in the last century_ , Julian remembered; red was tactical, gold was command.

“I’m Captain Jonathan Archer,” the man with gold stripes and four insignia pins said. “Since we’re not near any planets or other ships at the moment, I’m going to guess that you aren’t from around here.”

“Ah,” said Julian, his brain freezing. Time travel was annoying at the best of times and this sideways jerk was not the best of times. _Maybe it was that ion storm_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully with the one part that had continued working on the _how_ rather than _what now_. 

“Do you have a name?” Archer asked politely.

“Ah,” said Julian again, wondering how best not to contaminate things.

“Can you understand me? Malcolm, see if you can call Hoshi—”

“I understand, Captain,” said Julian, not wanting to bring in any more personnel than was necessary. “My name is—Julian.” 

Archer looked him over. “I don’t want to assume, but you seem human.” Julian smiled grimly at how accidentally apt the description was. “How did you get on my ship?”

This, at least, Julian could answer truthfully. “I’m really not sure, Captain.”

“Where were you?” 

_Some two hundred years in your future_ , Julian replied silently. “I was in a bar,” he said, honestly.

“A bar.”

Julian did his best to look innocent.

“Interesting kind of bar that gets you covered in blood.”

Malcolm was rather more direct. “Since we’re in deep space, I’m having trouble with the idea of finding a good bar near here. You have any coordinates you could share for this bar?”

Julian held in a sigh and tried to think of anything plausible that he could say that wasn’t actually the truth. The man named Malcolm continued to eye him watchfully, his hand still on the phase pistol ready at his side. “Coordinates?” said Julian, opting to play dumb. “Wouldn’t know anything about coordinates.” He had no idea how to reverse this mess, but he couldn’t very well ask to take over the transporter panel and check. It was also a good idea to show he wasn’t a threat—well, he’d said he was in a bar.

Drunk it was.

“Fact, I wouldn’t know anything at all,” he said, deliberately slurring his speech and letting his body tilt clumsily. “Was a pretty good bar,” he added. He stumbled forward, pretending to catch himself against the wall.

Archer started forward to help him and Malcolm called out, “Captain! Be careful; we don’t know what he might have on him.”

Besides a tricorder that there was no way he could allow them to see and a Starfleet badge that was entirely out of place, there was fortunately nothing that could be construed as a weapon. Julian thanked the stars for small favors.

“We should get you to Dr. Phlox,” Archer said to Julian. “Then we can talk about whether you really don’t know anything.”

Malcolm came around the transport console, pistol raised, and Julian submitted to being patted down. There went the tricorder; Julian sighed at how completely impossible it was to hide anything in Starfleet uniforms. He looked at the seemingly hundreds of pockets on Archer and Malcolm’s coveralls covetously.

“And what’s this?” Malcolm said, showing Julian the tricorder.

Julian shrugged. “Man’s gotta have some way to keep dates straight,” he said, almost wincing at the terrible lie. Garak would be so disappointed.

Malcolm flipped the tricorder open and Julian sent up a prayer of gratitude that it remained silent and blank; perhaps whatever had gone wrong in the transporter beam had fried its circuitry, which wouldn’t be a blessing in his own time but saved him considerable explanation here.

“And this?” Malcolm continued, tapping the Starfleet combadge. 

“’s nice brooch, y’think?” Julian slurred.

Malcolm gave him a calculating stare and Julian was oddly reminded of Odo for a brief moment; they shared that innate suspicion. Yes, this Malcolm was security all right.

“Can you walk?” Archer asked.

Julian pretended to consider. “Bit,” he said, taking a step forward and missing his footing.

Archer caught him and slung Julian’s arm over his own shoulders. “Wouldn’t be good hospitality to let you fall on your face,” he said. They hobbled to the door and Archer pushed a button. “Archer to Phlox.”

“Phlox here.”

“I have a rather— _unusual_ guest here in the transport room; we’re heading your way.”

“Acknowledged,” said the disembodied voice.

“Come on,” said Archer, hitching Julian up a bit. “Let’s go to sick bay.”

“Captain, I must insist that I accompany you,” said Malcolm.

“You can get his other arm, then,” said Archer. He explained to Julian, “You’re a lightweight, but it’s a bit of a walk.”

Julian let his head loll as Malcolm reluctantly took up his other arm, grateful that the matter of the combadge had been left for the time being. The three of them stumbled off to the sick bay, all of them wondering just what on Earth was going on.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come in, come in, Captain, what have we here?” said a jubilant Denobulan as the strange trio entered sickbay. A frisson of excitement zapped through Julian and he clamped down on it. History may not have been his strong point, but the first doctor on the first _Enterprise_ was a staple study for medical students—even more so for self-professed xenophiles like Julian. He remembered many late-night conversations in med school about what a brilliant move it had been for Starfleet to have made an alien the chief source of healing on that experiment of a ship, long before the tentative trust of the Federation even existed.

“Seems we’ve picked up a strange passenger indeed,” Dr. Phlox said, helping the men pull Julian onto a bed and beginning to run a scanner over him.

Julian watched for a second, fascinated by the outdated model, before— _what if it picks up the enhancements_ , he thought with a scurry of fear. He grabbed the doctor’s wrist in panic and immediately let go at the widening of the inhumanly blue eyes. He’d forgotten that Denobulans did not like casual physical contact.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Julian said, “but I don’t need to be scanned, I promise.”

“A doctor yourself, are you?” said Dr. Phlox, and Julian almost laughed.

“I mean this isn’t my blood.”

The security officer Malcolm’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. _Yep, definitely Odo_. “And just whose might it be, sir?’

“I’m—look, I didn’t _cause_ the…” This was quickly going from bad to worse. “I was near someone when they were injured and there was contact transfer.”

“You were near someone.”

Julian nodded.

“At a bar.”

Julian had forgotten that part. Hopefully his sudden clarity of speech wasn’t too obvious—but it seemed like this Malcolm was not one to miss details.

“And then you were in our transporter beam.”

Julian sighed.

“Care to elaborate on any of that?”

“Look, I honestly don’t understand how this happened any more than you do” _which was mostly true_ “but I promise you, I’m physically fine.”

A cage across the room rattled and Julian realized for the first time that there were cages and boxes and terrariums all over the other side of the room—of course. Dr. Phlox’s famous menagerie. Oh, what young student Julian would have given to be in his shoes right now!

“Captain, permission to put him in a room under guard,” said the security officer—a lieutenant, if Julian was reading his rank bars correctly.

Archer waved a hand at Malcolm. “Look—Julian, was it? Julian, can you tell us anything about what happened? You have to admit, it’s a bit uncomfortable for random people to show up on a man’s ship in deep space without any immediate explanation.”

 _It’s a Tuesday on DS9_ , Julian thought with a bit of an internal chuckle. “I’m sorry to not be much help, but I really don’t know much more than I was kneeling beside this other person and then I was on your transporter pad.”

“Starfleet yourself, are you?” Malcolm asked.

Julian caught himself just before nodding. “What makes you think that?”

“Seem knowledgeable about transporter pads.”

Cursing himself, Julian cast about for an answer. _Garak, where are your lies when I need them?_

“If you’re not going to lock him up and you’re going to keep standing in my sickbay, can I be a doctor here?” said Dr. Phlox, the mild gibe of his tone belying an insistence underneath that left no one in doubt as to who was in charge of this part of the ship.

“Get him cleaned up and in a uniform,” Archer said. “We’ll talk more later, Julian.”

Julian nodded helplessly as Archer left.

“I don’t like to leave you alone with him, Doctor,” said Malcolm.

“Well, Lieutenant, let us assuage your fears on that front. Mr. Julian, do you have intentions to harm me?"

Startled at the bluntness, Julian almost laughed. “What? No!”

“Do you have designs against the ship?”

“Absolutely not.”

“There, Lieutenant Reed, you have your answers.”

A look of almost physical pain passed over Malcolm’s face. “I appreciate your trust, Doctor, but people don’t usually _announce_ any nefarious plans to the recipients thereof.”

“I wouldn’t attack a Denobulan,” Julian said, remembering their self-defense mechanisms from his xenobiology courses.

“Oh, you’re familiar with my species?” said Phlox with delight. “Not terribly common for a human.”

Julian kicked himself mentally.

“And why wouldn’t you—” the lieutenant started, but Phlox cut him off.

“I promise I will call you if anything goes awry, and if you want to post someone outside the door you are welcome to it, but I would like some time with my patient, please.”

Malcolm looked from Julian to Phlox and back to Julian, scowling. “I’ll put a man outside and check in in one hour, Doctor,” he said.

Phlox nodded his head and Julian was struck with a sense of _déjà vu_ ; that same bow of acquiescence when he knew he’d won was one of Garak’s signature moves. Julian suddenly ached at the thought. What if he couldn’t get back home? What if he couldn’t get back to Jadzia, and Miles—and Garak?

He shook himself. There was no getting _back to Garak_ , not in that sense. Still. He would dearly miss their friendship.

“Right then,” Phlox said as Malcolm left with clear reluctance, “how far into the future are you from?”

Julian choked in shock and Phlox had to take a moment to help him right his breathing again. “I—I’m sorry?” Julian said, panicking.

Phlox held up his scanner. “Before you stopped me, I did manage to get some readings of the blood on your uniform—is it a uniform?—and of your own basic physiology. The blood has markers from Vulcan and human strains as well as several races I don’t believe the humans have yet met. Since, to my knowledge, there have been no Vulcan/human hybrid children yet, let alone established enough to have other generations mixed in, either you poured a lab sample down your front or you are from a time when that is possible. Additionally, your own physical structure has several nutrients that do not make sense in a human body, although you did interrupt that particular mystery and it may not be as mysterious as it seems.”

“I’m sorry for touching you,” Julian said, his brain whirring over how badly this had already gone.

“Quite all right. Now, how far? Or is that classified?”

“How—what would make you think of time travel?”

Phlox sighed theatrically. “We’ve had a few rather exciting moments with a time traveler named Crewman Daniels of late, so the idea that time is fixed and singularly pointed has taken a bit of a beating. Poor Commander T’Pol is having quite the difficulty continuing to insist that the Vulcan Science Directorate is correct in their belief that time travel doesn’t exist.”

Julian took a deep breath. “Dr. Phlox—”

“Just Phlox is fine,” the doctor said cheerfully. _Plain, simple_ —Julian shook his head.

“Phlox,” he repeated, “even if I were from the future—which I’m not saying I am—it would compromise rather a lot for me to just start talking about that, wouldn’t it?” 

“Ah,” said Phlox, and the intensely blue eyes twinkled, “it would were you to tell all of the secrets of new weapons to Lieutenant Reed, or of the details of treaties to Captain Archer, or even of how that multi-race humanoid came to exist to me. But to tell me your century, your name, your profession? Hardly earth-shattering, I should think.”

Julian rubbed his eyes tiredly and eyed the cage on the counter across the room as it rattled. “I _am_ a doctor,” he said at last.

“Splendid! I promise not to get too curious, but I can rest easier knowing that you really _can_ diagnose whether or not you’re going to drop dead in my sickbay.”

This time, Julian did laugh. “I promise, Phlox, I won’t do any such thing. In fact, would you loan me your scanner? I—I don’t want you to see more than you should,” _for so many reasons_ , “but I can at least check myself for anything the transporter may have caused that I can’t feel.”

Phlox handed over his scanner and Julian thanked him, recognizing the burning curiosity and sympathizing. A quick scan showed that he was, in fact, perfectly fine—just in the wrong century and the wrong part of space. He quickly erased the data and handed the scanner back, glad that the technology wasn’t so far away from a tricorder that he had no idea what to do with it.

“So, how far?”

Julian studied the eager alien for a moment. “The 24th century,” he said softly.

“Goodness,” said Phlox, looking him over. “Well, what an interesting day for us both. Care to help me feed my Pyrithian bat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I just really love Phlox and how chill and brilliant he is, okay.


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t like it, sir,” said Malcolm as he rigidly took his place at the weapons console on the bridge.

“I’m rather unsurprised to hear it, Lieutenant,” replied Archer, “but not liking it unfortunately doesn’t keep us from having to deal with it. I didn’t get the sense that he was dangerous, but I do have to admit being a bit wary of a guy who doesn’t seem to have come from anywhere.”

With great difficulty, Malcolm kept himself from rolling his eyes at Archer finally being “wary” of something that had long since passed “we should be at tactical alert” on the Reed scale.

“Sub-commander, anything?”

“Sensors are not picking up any anomalies, sir,” replied T’Pol.

“Hoshi?”

“I’m not picking up any subspace chatter of any kind, Captain,” replied the communications officer.

“Where did this guy _come_ from?” Archer wondered. “We aren’t near any planets, there aren’t any ships, and people don’t tend to simply _appear_.”

Malcolm quietly considered how many impossible things had happened in his two years aboard _Enterprise_ before setting aside the incongruence. “Sir, I’ve posted Ensign Mercia outside of the infirmary for the time being. I strongly suggest you allow me to question the man once Phlox declares him fit.”

“Permission granted, but before you talk to him you can at least go through his equipment. Do you still have the thing you took from him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go down to Trip and see if he can make anything of it. If this Julian character doesn’t want to say anything, maybe his belongings will.”

“Yes, sir,” said Malcolm, already in motion to the lift.

Feeding the various creatures in Phlox’s cages and tanks was a very strange experience and Julian privately felt surprised that he, a doctor from a space station that hosted hundreds of races every month, could still be thrown by what were, to Phlox, medicinal pets.

“Slowly, Doctor, slowly,” said Phlox as Julian dropped shreds of leafy greens into a tank whose inhabitant he couldn’t properly see.

The title made Julian shiver slightly and he avoided investigating why. “How on earth did you get Starfleet to accept having this many live specimens aboard?” he asked instead.

Phlox smiled at him over a rattling cage. “I explained that deep space is filled with things that require, ah, creativity,” he said, “and that many of these wonders would save whole crates full of other medicinal requirements. All in all, they take up far less space than some of the more, well, conventional stores. Do you not have such creatures?”

“I do not,” said Julian as he closed the last lid. “But then, we can replicate—I mean, we...” He trailed off.

“You have future technology that you do not want to mention to me,” Phlox supplied.

“Exactly,” said Julian with a sigh. “You know, I’ve heard that Denobulans are pretty straightforward, but now that I’ve met you I wish I had one in my own infirmary. You’re like—like Vulcans, but warm.”

Phlox chuckled to himself. “Best not to let the sub-commander hear that comparison, I think.”

“Are they—oh, right! The first Vulcan, right?”

“Indeed,” said Phlox. “I suppose you study us, then?”

“It’s part of one of the intro courses,” said Julian with enthusiasm as he crossed to a bed and hopped onto it. “The _Enterprise_ was pivotal to the creation of—oh, damn it.”

“I imagine censoring yourself must be difficult.”

“I think your security officer either thinks I’m an idiot or a spy from what I’m having to withhold.”

“Yes, Lieutenant Reed is rather protective of this ship and her crew.” Phlox set down the last of his feeding implements and eyed the lanky doctor swinging his legs at the edge of the treatment bed. “So why not simply tell him the truth?”

Julian’s legs stopped swinging. “The truth? ‘Hi, I’m from the future, got sidetracked somehow and may be stuck with you forever, by the way I can’t tell you anything further’? Yes, that would go over quite well.”

“Are you afraid of being ‘stuck’ here?”

Julian ducked his head. “No,” he said. “I mean, not afraid. But I’m not the engineering one—that's Miles, and without him I’m not sure I can figure out how to get back.”

“Our chief engineer, a Commander Tucker, is quite adept. I don’t know how he compares to your Miles, but I wouldn’t discount his ability to help.”

Pondering this, Julian began swinging his legs again. “Maybe. But now that I’ve kept this from the captain and the security chief, won’t they be less inclined to believe me?”

“I suppose you can only try and see.”

Julian grinned. “You are such an optimist, Phlox,” he said. “It’s so different from—” He cut himself off again, the grin slipping.

“Another secret of the future?”

“What? Oh, no. Just—I was thinking of—well, before I got...here, I was at lunch. I mean, I was called to a medical emergency, but before _that_ I was at lunch with a—friend of mine. He is decidedly _not_ an optimist.”

Phlox tilted his head and Julian looked away, embarrassed. But why? What did he have to be embarrassed about? _There’s nothing embarrassing_ , Julian told himself sternly.

“Is your friend a Vulcan?”

Julian barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “Oh, not at all,” he said, laughing again at the thought of Garak as a Vulcan. “He’s Cardassian.”

“Hmm,” said Phlox. “I don’t know that the humans have met them, yet.”

“Oh, really? Have the Denobulans?”

“Briefly. They’re not a particularly friendly species, if I remember correctly.”

Julian sobered a bit. “No; Garak told me that they were pretty militaristic for a long time.”

“So you were having lunch with this ‘Garak’?”

“Yeah.” A curious look stole across Julian’s face and Phlox tucked it away to remember later. “And he’s definitely not an optimist. He would have about fifty different reasons why it’s terrible I’ve even told _you_ as much as I have, let alone your Lieutenant Reed.”

“Yet he is not the one trapped in a time not his own.”

“No,” sighed Julian. “No, he’s not.”

“So what have you to lose?”

***

“Commander, a word?” asked Malcolm as he entered the engine room.

Charles Tucker bounded down the steps from the warp core to meet the lieutenant. “What’s up, Mal?” he asked. 

“Can we go to your office?”

Tucker’s eyes widened slightly. “Sure, I guess.” He gestured and Malcolm led the way, closing the door once they were both in the office. “Mal, on duty’s not usually your style—”

“Trip, there’s a security breach,” replied Malcolm, sidestepping the comment. “I need your help.”

Trip was all business. “What’s going on?”

“I was working on the transporter and a man appeared.”

“A man...appeared.”

“Yes. He says his name is Julian—he's with Phlox at the moment and says he doesn’t know what happened, but we’re not near any planets or ships and something doesn’t feel right here.”

“What do you need me for?”

“This.” Malcolm handed the tricorder to Trip. “I took it from him; he claims it’s something like a calendar, but I can’t believe that’s all it does. I scanned it and didn’t find anything hazardous, but the captain suggested you and I take a look at it together.”

Trip glanced up quickly with a quirked grin and Malcolm pursed his lips. “The _item_ , Trip,” he said.

“Aye aye,” Trip responded, looking again at the machine in his hand. “Well, I’d love to take it apart, but I have the feeling you’re going to want me to go slow with that.”

“Quite.”

“Then have a seat, will ya? This is going to take a while.”

***

“It is illogical to believe that the best way of sending this man back whence he came is by using the same method.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Sub-commander T’Pol stared steadily at Archer, decidedly not rolling her eyes. “What do you intend to do with him while he is here?” she asked instead of answering.

Archer sighed and slumped in his captain’s chair. “Put him in a room—I wouldn’t wish a night in sickbay on anyone.”

“Under guard?”

“It would have to be or Malcolm’ll have my head,” replied Archer.

T’Pol’s eyebrow arched. “I do believe he would stop short of decapitation, but I think it wise to listen to his recommendation. We know very little about this man or how he came aboard the ship; his arrival could be the first of others.”

“Travis, are we even _near_ anything where we could have accidentally picked him up?” Archer leaned toward the helmsman hopefully.

Ensign Travis Mayweather looked over his shoulder with chagrin. “No, sir. We’re pretty far from anything habitable.”

Archer fell back again, obviously frustrated. “Ever have someone just show up on your ship, Travis? You boomers meet a lot of pretty odd things on your routes.”

“We do,” agreed Travis, “but I’ve never heard of someone picking up a passenger with no clear way he could’ve gotten on board. I’m sorry, Captain, but there’s no explanation I can think of for how he got here.”

There was a pause on the bridge and then Archer groaned. “Damn,” he said vehemently.

“Captain?” inquired T’Pol.

“You know who’s usually behind the things we can’t explain any other way? Daniels.”

T’Pol’s expression flattened. “Captain, time travel is even more illogical than—”

“You’ve said you don’t have any ideas about how this guy got here, Travis doesn’t have any ideas, Malcolm and I are out of other theories—Hoshi, do you have anything?”

The communications officer shook her head.

“Hoshi’s out of ideas,” said Archer, gesturing her way. “So Daniels is as good a bet as any.”

“Such a ‘bet’ does not match your previous experiences, however. Crewman Daniels, from your recounting, comes himself and speaks to you. He does not send messengers with no message.”

“You’re right.” Archer hauled himself out of the chair. “So it’s probably a good idea for me to go talk to him again. Julian seemed pretty cagey when he showed up; I wonder what he’s been told _not_ to tell me.” That settled, Archer crossed to the lift and headed down to sickbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set somewhere in mid-season two of "Enterprise," so we've already had "Singularity" (the invention of the tactical alert) and "A Night in Sickbay."
> 
> Also, I'm choosing to believe that Malcolm and Trip have been together since season one and just keep that quiet so that the captain doesn't have to do anything about it.


	4. Chapter 4

“How far?” thundered Malcolm as he and Trip tumbled into the sickbay. Phlox and Julian looked up from Phlox’s computer in surprise. “How far into the future?”

Julian looked quickly at Phlox for support and Phlox nodded encouragement. “I—I’m not sure—” stammered Julian.

“There’s no way this gadget is from our time,” Malcolm interrupted, “because Commander Tucker doesn’t even know what some of the material _is_. So either you’re a type of alien we’ve not yet encountered, or you’re from the future.”

“Those are the only two options?” asked Julian weakly.

“Gentlemen,” soothed Phlox, “I’m sure this conversation could be conducted in a more—”

“I am _quite sure_ that it is time Daniels and his crew give rather more information than they’ve given so far if they’re going to compromise the ship’s security over and over,” Malcolm said, incensed, “and if ‘Julian’ here isn’t going to help willingly, perhaps there are other methods.”

Julian took an alarmed step back just as Trip pulled Malcolm a little way away. “Whoa there,” Trip said, trying to turn Malcolm toward him. “It’s not quite there yet, I don’t think.”

“How far?” Malcolm asked again. “And what mission is it this time? What do we have to do to reset your timeline, sacrifice someone?”

Julian gaped. “What? No, my—I mean, I don’t—”

Archer came in at that point, his jaw set. “All right, where is Daniels and why did he send you?”

Julian stared at the three men and suddenly burst out laughing. He bent double, wheezing with breathlessness.

“I fail to see anything funny here,” said Archer, his tone sharp and cold.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Captain, I’m not—”

“It has been quite a day for our guest,” Phlox said, “perhaps he should be allowed to rest.”

“Is he dying, Phlox?” asked Archer.

Phlox looked confused. “No, I can’t say that he is.”

“Then he’ll answer our questions,” Malcolm replied.

Julian took a deep breath and stood straight again. “I promise, sir, I was not laughing at you. I’m astounded that all of you have come to the idea of time travel independently of each other and within minutes and I wish I could tell you this was that planned, but I was just sitting next to a patient ready to be beamed to the infirmary and ended up here and I have no idea how, I really don’t. I swear I don’t know anything more than that.”

Archer seemed to register that Trip and Malcolm were in the room for the first time. “Wait, ‘all of you’?”

“We had the same thought, Cap’n, of it being Daniels,” said Trip. “That machine of his is years ahead of anything I know of.”

“Two hundred years, give or take,” said Julian, composed now.

“Two hundred?” said Archer in disbelief. “You mean to tell me you’re from the 24th century?”

Julian snuck a look at Phlox, who nodded supportively. “Yes,” said Julian. “Yes, sir, I do.”

Archer sighed heavily. “Well. Not as far out as Daniels usually goes. So, what’s wrong with your timeline that you need us to fix?”

“Wrong?” Julian asked. “No, there’s nothing wrong. At least, not that I know of.”

“No?” said Archer. “No repercussions of a temporal cold war?”

“Erm, no,” said Julian. “Should there be?”

“So why are you here?” asked Malcolm.

Julian spread his hands wide. “I wish I could tell you, I truly do. Like I said, I was kneeling next to a patient preparing to be beamed to the infirmary— _my_ infirmary—and then I was on your transporter pad.”

“‘Beamed’?” asked Trip.

Julian winced. “Temporal Investigations is going to be _so_ mad at me when I get back,” he said ruefully. “It’s a colloquial term for using the transporter beams. We can use them within our station.”

“Temporal...Investigations,” said Archer.

“Yeah, it’s a whole department. Not the best guys to spend time with, really.”

“You can use transporter beams _within_ a ship?” asked Trip, clearly excited.

“A station,” Julian corrected. “Look, Captain, I’m sorry, but I really shouldn’t be talking about _any_ of this with you. God knows how far I’ve already corrupted the timeline.”

Archer waved a hand in dismissal. “Trust me, Daniels did way more damage than you’re doing.”

“It’s not really a comparative thing, sir,” said Julian.

“So you expect us to believe that you have no clue how you got on this ship,” said Malcolm.

“I do, because it’s the truth,” replied Julian. “There was an ion storm that was messing with the station’s systems and a relay burst, which injured a crewman, which involved me, which required the transport, which—”

“An ion storm?” interrupted Trip.

“Yes,” said Julian. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Commander Charles Tucker. The third.”

“This is the chief engineer,” said Phlox. “Your ‘Miles.’”

“Oh!” said Julian excitedly. “Yes, you would know! I took an engineering extension course when I was at the Academy, but I know that without having seen any of the specifications of the beam when I was about to be transported I won’t be able to give you the details you need. Yes, there was an ion storm; it had been causing minor disturbances around the station all day.”

“Engineering...extension course,” said Trip slowly.

“It’s come in quite handy,” said Julian. “When Miles and I were stranded on a planet one time without—oh,” he stopped himself, looking sad. “I really should not be telling you stories about my time, should I.”

There was a pause as Julian drew into himself and the men around him looked at each other uncertainly.

“Look, we’re not going to figure this out today,” said Archer eventually, “so come with me and we’ll find you a place to sleep—if, that is, he’s free to leave the infirmary, Phlox?”

Phlox smiled. “Clean bill of health,” he said. 

“Good.”

“Sir,” interrupted Malcolm, “if you’re going to put him in quarters, I would strongly advise that he remain under guard.”

“I promise I’m not a threat,” Julian said, but the lieutenant glared at him and he stepped back. Julian towered over the fellow Brit but had no doubt that tangling with Reed would not end in his favor. 

“Strongly advise?” said Archer.

Malcolm nodded.

“All right, then. But only one guard; this isn’t a prison ship and we’re not near anything with which he can do much damage.”

It was only years of lunches with the enigmatic Garak that had trained Julian to be able to see the slight flare of Reed’s nostrils, the tension around his eyes as he no doubt calculated just how much damage a loose stranger could cause if he wanted. Julian suddenly felt kindlier toward the security officer; it was clear that Archer, as had been hinted at in his historical files, was not overly careful with his own safety or even that of his crew.

“Malcolm and Trip, how about you two start working on seeing if we can get our guest here back to his own century?”

Trip stared at him. “Cap’n, I have no idea where to start.”

“That mention of an ion storm seemed to kick up something for you.”

“Commander, what if—what if the transporter beam itself fractured through the ions on the same wavelength as when I was trying to tighten ours?” asked Malcolm. Trip gave him a look and the two were off, chattering at each other about all sorts of things that Julian only half-understood. Miles would have loved it.

Julian ignored how much his chest tightened at the thought of Miles and how far away in every measurable sense he was. _What if_ — Julian squashed the thought.

“Come with me, Julian?” asked Archer, and Julian had been in Starfleet long enough to hear that it wasn’t actually a request.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and followed the captain out of sickbay, throwing a glance over his shoulder back at Phlox before the doors slid shut, surprised to find those fluorescently blue eyes staring back at him.

“So,” said Archer as he led them down hallways that all looked bizarrely smooth to Julian, accustomed as he was to the spiky geometry of Cardassian design. The comparison made him think of Garak and he felt his chest constrict again. _Stop it_.

“Sir?” Julian said out loud.

“You’re from the 24th century.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nice, there?”

_We’re at the beginning of an inter-quadrant war and there’s suspicion everywhere that nobody is who they seem_ , Julian thought. “It has its merits. But I’ve never lived in another century, so I don’t have much for comparison.”

“How’s the relationship with the Klingons going in two hundred years?”

“You know I can’t answer that, sir.”

“I know you probably won’t, but it couldn’t hurt to try.” They stopped at a door that looked like every other door and Archer keyed a code into the pad. He led Julian inside and Julian realized yet again how different his life aboard a station was from that on a ship. Though quite a bit bigger than the rooms on the _Defiant_ , the spare bunk-and-desk combination of the quarters was quite unlike the comparative suite he had on DS9.

“Archer to Reed,” Archer said into a comm unit on the wall. 

“Reed here,” came the crisp reply.

“Send your man down when ready.”

“Aye, sir.”

“I’m sure you’re no trouble, Julian,” said Archer, closing the comm line and turning back to the doctor, “but after a year and a half I’m starting to trust Lieutenant Reed’s instincts.”

“A wise choice, sir,” said Julian.

“So in a uniform like that—it is a uniform, right?”

Julian hesitated, then nodded. 

“Do you serve in Starfleet?”

Julian considered what an affirmative would be giving away and then decided that Starfleet was safe enough. The Federation, however… “Yes, sir.”

“Rank?”

“Lieutenant,” replied Julian.

“Lieutenant Julian.”

"I prefer doctor, sir.”

“Dr. Julian, then. Not going to tell me your full name, are you?”

“No, sir.”

“Right, then.”

The pair stood awkwardly for a few moments and Julian wondered whether he could move around the cabin while they waited for his security escort. He decided it was better not to try and instead focused on the fact that Jonathan Archer, _Jonathan Archer_ was standing in front of him, feeling awkward. It was one of the more surreal experiences Julian had had, which was saying something considering life aboard a wormhole-adjacent space station.

The door chimed and a woman in a red-lined blue jumpsuit stepped through. “Sir, I’ll take over from here,” she said.

“Thank you, Crewman,” Archer said. “Well, Doctor, if you have questions, feel free to comm me—er, do you know how to use our communications system?”

_If I can remember from the museum trip_ , Julian thought to himself. “I think so, sir.”

“The mess is on E deck, back down one,” said Archer. “There’s always something Chef leaves out if you want to go grab yourself something.”

Julian realized it had been a long time since that half-finished lunch. As much as he didn’t want to travel around with his Lieutenant-Reed-approved tail, it was wise for him not to skip out on nourishment. “Thank you, sir.”

Archer pressed a button to open the door. “We’ll sort this out,” he said.

“I’m sure, sir,” said Julian, not at all sure as he watched the legendary captain leave.


	5. Chapter 5

Julian snooped around the quarters for a moment, quickly getting the lay of the small space. He wondered why there were extra quarters so ready to hand and grimaced. Had the original _Enterprise_ lost so many crew members this early in its run? Why, this was even before the Xindi war—wasn’t it?

Julian sighed, wishing again that he had paid more attention in history class. Perhaps he could call up some documents on the room’s computer before bed to better situate himself so he didn’t inadvertently talk about something that hadn’t happened yet. _If Lieutenant Reed hasn’t locked me out of the system entirely_ , he thought.

He opened the door and glanced at his security detail. “I’ve no idea what time it is, but I’m famished,” he said, smiling his most winning smile at the woman. “Shall we go to the mess?”

The woman did not smile back. “Follow me, sir.” She turned just enough to lead the way but not so far that Julian was out of her line of sight and Julian followed, belatedly realizing the woman wore a phaser at her hip. 

After a few failed attempts at conversation, Julian followed in silence. The crewman was clearly curious about him, but it seemed that Reed ran a tight ship—she knew her job and stuck to it.

"Chef has a pretty wide variety of dishes in a schedule that makes sense to him,” the crewman said as she ushered Julian into the mess, “but most of them are pretty okay.”

Julian gaped at the open window of a man cooking; it had been _ages_ since he’d seen a human _cook_. The Klingon restaurant notwithstanding, it was just easier all around to use the replicators that were everywhere.

 _But not here_ , Julian realized. This was before food replicators, a thing Julian had taken for granted his whole life. _Captain Sisko would love this_. The thought was quickly followed by that ache that was becoming familiar and Julian pushed it away. He went instead to the window and grabbed the dish that was handed him, sitting at a table somewhat out of the way. He watched the crew filter in and out, realizing he had come just before a shift change. The crew coming off shift was slightly raucous and jovial and Julian appreciated their levity but found himself disinclined to join despite the curious glances tossed his way. Instead, he realized he was looking for Jadzia’s smile, for Garak’s grey ridges, for Miles’ curly hair, even for Kira’s fiery red uniform amidst this crew that was not his.

He finished his meal quickly and followed the crewman back to his quarters, curling up on the bed and falling asleep fitfully under the watch of unfamiliar stars.

***

“Phlox to Julian,” Julian heard from his wall unit. He scrambled up, blinking, and hit the receive button.

“Julian here.”

“Dr. Julian, would you be so kind as to come to sickbay?”

Julian pondered what could be wrong, but realized it wasn’t as though he had anything else to do. “I’ll be right there, Doctor—Phlox.”

Stretching out his long limbs, Julian looked around the quarters. He hadn’t been asleep but in that strange place between wakefulness and dreams until Phlox’s voice told him it was probably morning by ship’s time. Getting ready for the day was going to be an interesting prospect when he couldn’t even change his clothes.

The door chimed. “Enter,” Julian said in confusion.

A different guard from the night before came in, a blue jumpsuit in her hands. “The captain said you might want something fresh for the day,” she said, handing him the uniform. “I hope it fits.”

Julian thanked her and she left. He rubbed the material in his hands; Garak would be appalled by the design’s privilege of practicality over anything resembling style, but Julian found he rather liked the slight ruggedness of it. He felt the reality of being so far outside of his own time intensified by this concrete proof of a culture that still needed things like cargo pockets. 

The ache began and Julian rolled his eyes, trudging off to the refresher. As he stripped from his own uniform, his hand hesitated over his combadge. The metal felt cool and comfortingly familiar. He took it off and put it in one of the many pockets of the jumpsuit.

***

“Ah, good morning!” said Phlox as Julian entered sickbay. “I see you’re assimilating to the crew.” 

Julian fidgeted slightly in his new uniform, the teal stripes along his shoulders the only common link between these clothes and his own. He found himself missing his rank pips but had stopped himself from transferring the round dots to this time where square blocks adorned the chest. “It’s nice to have something clean,” he said, suddenly realizing just how long he had worn a uniform dotted with someone else’s blood. 

“Of course, of course.”

“Did you need something, sir?”

“Never sir, my good man, not necessary. I simply thought that if you’re to be here with us for a while, you might as well be in the environment that’s semi-familiar to you. Help with the homesickness, yes?”

Julian was grateful that Phlox was thinking of his comfort but annoyed that he was so right about his sense of displacement before remembering that Phlox held an absurd amount of degrees, at least one of which was in psychiatry. He would have to choose his words carefully. _The right words for the right effect to keep him interested but not give him the upper hand; you have plenty of practice at that_ , he thought, and blinked away the image of scrutinizing blue eyes in a grey face. “I’d be very interested to learn what you have here, actually, yes. I’ve seen photographs and models, but the real thing would be fascinating.”

“I trust I’m a part of some museum exhibit somewhere, then?”

Julian considered his answer. “Well, you are part of the first warp five ship,” he said, glad he had taken a few moments to go over the ship’s mission—about the full extent of what he had been able to access, as he’d suspected—the night before. 

“So we end up going faster, eh?”

Clearly, more thought was needed on each statement. Julian focused fully on the gentle banter and settled in for the day.

***

“So what _exactly_ were you doing when he showed up?”

“I told you, Commander, I was compressing the transporter beam as part of the new protocols.”

“And how, exactly, were you doing that?”

Malcolm sighed. “We’ve been over this ground a hundred times, Commander.”

Trip blew out a breath and ran his hand over the transporter console. “I know, Mal, and I know you were just doing your job. I just can’t figure how we managed to affect _time_ with a _spatial_ beam.”

“Well, it’s not like I had his century in the pattern buffer along with him.”

Trip’s eyes widened. “Unless—well, we kind of _do_ hold time in—Mal, that might be it!” He vaulted over the transporter pad to the mechanics behind.

“Commander, what—what might be it?” Malcolm followed much more slowly.

“Mal, you’re a genius—time’s the fourth dimension, right? What if the compression and dematerialization of the three-dimensional atoms actually _does_ involve time? And we _do_ keep the pattern when folks rematerialize?”

Malcolm gaped. “Are you telling me I accidentally invented time travel?”

Trip grinned up at him, already elbow deep in the wiring of the pad. “I don’t know about ‘invented,’ but darlin’, you may have edged it forward a bit.”

With a harrumph that Trip knew well and Malcolm would never admit, the lieutenant knelt next to Trip to offer whatever help he could. “We’re on duty. I am not ‘darling.’”

“Whatever you say, sugar,” Trip said with a laugh in his voice, and Malcolm swatted him on the shoulder before leaning in to lend a hand.

***

It was a day that flew by for Julian as he and Phlox talked machinery, xenobiology, immunology, and unorthodox treatment options. He wished he could share what he knew fully but was glad to find that the only secrets he had to keep were of future technologies—by late afternoon, he was running at almost full mental capacity to keep up with Phlox’s sheer breadth of knowledge. It was exhilarating, like finally running at full tilt after walking slowly for years. It felt like lunches with Garak, his mind unfettered to make all the connections and cross-references he wanted, and Phlox never once stuttered at or chided him for being abnormally _able_.

It was a dangerously addicting thing, that kind of acceptance.

“Goodness, it’s coming to dinner time,” Phlox said as he sent a crewman on his way after alleviating a headache. ( _A headache!_ Julian thought to himself. _They still bother with analgesics for headaches!_ ) “Shall we go eat?”

Julian started in surprise. Had it been a full day already? He realized they had worked straight through lunch before remembering that Denobulans didn’t need as much food or sleep as humans, so likely this was a normal day for the alien. Julian’s stomach grumbled loudly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Phlox with a grin. “And tonight, if you’d like, is movie night.”

“Movie night?”

Phlox beckoned Julian to follow him as they left the infirmary, Julian’s ever-present security escort a few steps behind. “Commander Tucker and some others have set aside one night a week for the whole crew to gather and watch a film. I find it a delightful way to learn about Earth’s culture, as the commander has cinematic tastes I would not usually possess myself.”

Julian tried to remember if he’d ever seen a 2D movie and called up some memories from the Academy, but even those had been holographic screens. He was fascinated by what a movie would be like—and more fascinated by the prospect of Phlox asking him. “Do you think Lieutenant Reed would mind me being out and about like that?"

Phlox glanced sideways at him with a gentle smile as they walked. “I can assure him that I will be an attentive guardian, ensuring you do not get up to mischief.”

Julian laughed, warmth pooling in his stomach at the alien’s hyper-blue gaze. “Then it’s a date,” he said, looking away to smile at a passing crewman and missing the thoughtful expression that crossed the Denobulan’s face.

***

There is no hiding a secret on a spaceship, an adage Julian discovered was even more true than its parallel that there is no hiding a secret on a space station. He had thought the gossip chains of DS9 were quick but when he entered the mess hall later in the evening with Phlox and a new shift’s security guard, he saw nothing in anyone’s expression but curiosity. _I’ve only been here a day and a half and everyone already knows about me?_ he mused at the lack of surprise. _Gosh, they really_ must _get time travelers every other week here._

“Are you fond of popcorn?” Phlox asked him.

“What?”

“It is a traditional Earth dish, I’m told, that accompanies movies. I find it quite enjoyable. Would you like to share a container?”

Julian felt almost bashful for a moment. “That would be lovely,” he said. He stood frozen as Phlox walked away, realizing he had no idea where to sit. Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker sat together a few rows from the front, that strange match of dark and light hair easily recognizable from the back. Julian grinned at the thought of this being a date for them, too, but checked himself before going to sit with them—Reed might not appreciate him attempting to create a double-date.

A younger black man waved enthusiastically at him, patting a seat in clear invitation. Checking that there was also a seat for Phlox, Julian followed the summons.

“Hello!” said the man—an ensign, Julian realized. “I’m Travis Mayweather, helm officer. You must be Julian.”

Julian shook the proffered hand and sat, looking back to make eye contact with Phlox to ensure he would be found. “I am,” he said as he turned back to the helmsman. “It’s nice to meet you, Ensign.”

“Please, call me Travis!” He leaned forward a bit and whispered, “Is it true you’re from the future?”

Julian shrugged. “Guilty as charged,” he said, throwing caution out the airlock along with any sense of privacy about the matter.

“How cool!” Travis sat back with a smile. “We’ve seen a lot of weird things out here, but I think the whole time travel thing is something nobody expected—especially not T’Pol.” He gestured a few rows over and Julian noticed a Vulcan sitting ramrod straight in a tight jumpsuit, decidedly not Starfleet standard. Julian normally wasn’t much of one for Vulcans, but the outfit highlighted every curve—

“Ensign Mayweather!” said Phlox as he settled into the seat next to Julian, “thank you for inviting our displaced friend here to have somewhere to sit.”

“No problem, Phlox,” said Travis with a smile. “I know how weird it can be to have to find a place in a room where you don’t know anybody. Besides, Hoshi’s on switch shift today and she’s usually my seat mate.”

“I hear tonight’s film is by a man named Hitch-cock?” queried Phlox. “He seems to be a particular favorite of Ensign Almack.”

Travis leaned forward to respond before the lights dimmed. He sat back with a smile and Phlox offered the popcorn bucket to Julian, his intense blue eyes almost glowing in the sudden darkness. “North by Northwest!” splashed across the screen and Julian let himself fall into the tale of intrigue and mistaken identity, wondering if such a thing had been chosen with his unexpected arrival in mind. The buttery-sharp tang of the popcorn burst on his tongue, drawing him into the whole experience as the group around him gasped, sighed, and called useless warnings together. It was every bit as good as a holographic film, and if Julian brushed Phlox’s hand a couple of times as they shared the popcorn, he didn’t see Phlox flinch from it. Julian let himself enjoy the evening, and when Phlox walked him back to his quarters and Julian fell into bed, he dreamed of bright blue eyes and ridges meant for tracing, certain that the skin tone was several shades lighter than his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earning that tag that Julian has a crush on everybody while simultaneously allowing myself to hate on T'Pol's outfits that were terrible and sexist and stupid. Yes, she looked amazing in them. No, she shouldn't have had to wear them.
> 
> Also, do I have any idea how using the fourth dimension of time would actually work in the presumably three-dimensional transporter mechanism? I do not. Damn it, Jim, I'm a fanfic writer, not an engineer.


	6. Chapter 6

“Good morning, crewman—you know, I never did get your name,” Julian said as he left his quarters the next morning. “Thank you for being willing to simply stand there and wait for me to awaken this morning. Care to accompany me to sickbay?”

The crewman’s mouth quirked in an almost-smile at his effusiveness. “It’s Mercia. Crewman Mercia. I go where you go, sir.”

“Indeed you do,” Julian said, adjusting his jumpsuit. He really was baffled by all the pockets, but there was something about the uniform that felt incredibly informal to him. _Garak would love to see me in this_. He buried the thought deep and began the walk.

“Ah, good morning, Doctor!” said Phlox when Julian entered. “I was wondering if you would be joining me this morning.”

Julian felt himself suddenly grow bashful. “Where else would I be?”

“There are plenty of places to explore on the ship,” Phlox said. “It’s quite the interesting place.”

“Yes, well, it’s not as though they’re going to allow me to wander around the bridge,” Julian said with a sigh, stepping to the desk to help Phlox with the morning feeding ritual as though they’d done it a hundred times. “Security risk, remember?”

Phlox nodded in commiseration. “I imagine as long as you don’t try to outpace your guard or sabotage the warp engine, there are plenty more interesting places you could be.”

“Plenty of places, sure,” Julian said, looking down at the cage he was closing, “but more interesting? Certainly not.”

He looked up and was startled to find that he and Phlox were very close to each other, having worked their way accidentally to adjacent creatures. He was close enough to Phlox that he could see the ways the ridges smoothed into the rest of his face, the unnervingly blue eyes watching him steadily.

“Besides,” Julian almost whispered, remembering his dream, remembering the steady presence of Phlox sitting next to him, grinning, the night before, “what if I want to be here…with you?” He reached out, the ridges irresistible to his fingertips.

“Doctor,” said Phlox gently, catching Julian’s wrist in his hand and tilting his head slightly away. “I do believe you have a different choice in mind.”

“Oh—oh, yes, I forgot, you’re not thrilled with touch, that was incredibly forward, I’m so sorry—”

“No, Doctor— _Julian_ ,” Phlox said, releasing Julian and taking a step back. “I can’t say I’m not flattered, but I don’t think I’m quite what you have in mind.”

Julian blinked. _As a xenophile, I’d say you’re exactly what I have in mind_ , he thought, but fortunately kept that to himself. “What do you mean?”

Phlox studied him a moment and Julian barely kept himself from flinching under the intensity of that gaze. “There’s someone back home for you, isn’t there?”

“What? No. I mean, Leeta and I have been getting—closer, but it isn’t really serious—”

Phlox shook his head. “I believe you called him Garak?”

Julian stared in shock and then burst out laughing. “You—you think Garak and I—I mean, me and Garak are—oh, no, Phlox, not at all. I appreciate your chivalry if that’s what’s preventing you, but Garak and I are just friends. We have lunch together.”

Phlox hummed slightly, a small smile curving his lips. “Friends,” he said.

“Yes,” Julian said, now slightly annoyed. “Friends.”

“Oh, Julian,” said Phlox, “are you sure?”

Last night’s dream ran through Julian’s mind and suddenly the eyes were ice blue, the skin grey, the ridges not only around the eyes but down the nose, the jaw—

“You know what, it might be good for me to go around the ship a bit, after all,” Julian said, his voice slightly strained.

“You are always welcome here once you’ve finished exploring,” Phlox said cheerfully, and Julian grimaced at him before fleeing sickbay, not even stopping to wait for his security tail.

***

It was only after he was some way down the hallway that Julian stopped to think about where he was going instead. He stopped abruptly and his tail stopped with him. “Sir?”

The engine room was out, as was the bridge, and he knew the mess well enough. Holosuites hadn’t been invented yet, unfortunately—“Is there a place to exercise on board?” Julian asked.

“Yes, sir,” Crewman Mercia said, “the gym.”

“Think I have permission to go there?”

“I can ask.” She stepped away to a wall com and paged Lieutenant Reed, who gave his affirmation while Julian fidgeted a bit. “Follow me,” she said as she closed the conversation.

Once at the gym, he realized he had no clothes other than his borrowed uniform, so the security officer helped him find a tank and some shorts. After changing, Julian felt supremely gangly, missing his sleek, full-body tennis outfit that hid much of his boniness. Sighing, he went to get on a treadmill and noticed a very pretty young woman already there a few machines over.

“Hello,” he said, beginning the treadmill at a walking pace, “I’m Julian.”

She nodded over at him, conserving her air as she ran. He caught himself staring at the way her ponytail bounced and refocused on his own machine. He brought it up to her speed and passed it slightly, the pace easy for his enhanced system but a welcome moment of releasing some tension in the pull of muscle and tendon. _Phlox was way off_ , he thought as he ran, _he’s just picking up on my having mentioned my friends back on DS9._

_But he didn’t mention Jadzia,_ his brain unhelpfully answered. _He pulled out Garak_.

_Doesn’t mean I have a crush on him._

_Doesn’t it?_

Julian ran faster, but his mind continued to wheel out memories of he and Garak together, of the laughter, the snide comments, the push and pull of a good debate. _Maybe…_

The woman slowed her machine and Julian pulled himself out of his thoughts, slowing his own machine and hiding that he wasn’t out of breath at all. “So what do you do on the ship?” he asked. “I’m new, you see.”

She flashed a knowing smile at him and Julian sighed. Yes, she was very pretty indeed.

“I’m Hoshi Sato,” she said. “I’m the communications officer.”

“Ah, languages!” he replied, truly delighted. “And we’re before—I mean, um.” He cut himself off, realizing he’d almost completely blundered through the timeline for a cute smile. _Ah, there’s Julian Bashir in true form_.

Hoshi laughed. “You’re the time-traveler, right?”

Julian nodded at his machine.

“I hope Trip and Malcolm haven’t been giving you too much trouble.”

Julian looked up at her again. “Why do you say that?”

“They can get—pretty wound up about things,” she said. “And sometimes they egg each other on, even without realizing it. It’s like that in a relationship, I guess.”

“You guess?” said Julian, hearing an opening. “No one aboard for your fancy, then?”

Hoshi gave him a look before answering, “Hasn’t been my thing, really. I’m focused on my work and happy to be so.”

“Ah, but it must get lonely out here in the deep reaches of space.”

She reached for the towel on the edge of her treadmill as she slowed the machine another notch. “I’m on a ship full of people all the time. If anything, there are times when I wish I could have a place to be alone.”

“I’m sure your quarters could act as a bit of a sanctuary. You know, I’m a doctor; I know there are times when the body requires relaxation away from the demands of social expectation.”

“What about where you come from?” she replied with a small smile. “Is your ship a little crowded?”

“Station, actually, a space station. And it’s not too bad; lot of turnover of who’s coming and going, given the interest in the—” _Damn_. He cut himself off again, swallowing down the revelation of the wormhole.

“Must be hard, having to navigate what to say around us and what not to,” Hoshi said, looking straight at him as she stopped her machine.

Julian stopped his as well, caught off guard by the question. “Well, yes. I’d hate to be responsible for advancing the timeline in the wrong way.”

“But it also makes sure you can’t fit in with us. Like you’re speaking the right language, but the wrong dialect.”

Julian looked at her properly, seeing beyond the cute face to the sharp mind that understood more than he’d even admitted to himself. _Always just a little bit off what’s normal_ , he thought to himself. “Something like that, yes.”

“Is there anybody back home who speaks your dialect?” The compassion in her tone almost physically hurt Julian as he pondered the question. Jadzia was a good friend and he loved her, truly loved her, but she often pulled back from his boundless intensity with a gently condescending smile. Miles was steadfast and true and could always be counted on to back Julian up in whatever adventure, but he would not go to the deep places where Julian wanted to talk about how frightened he sometimes was that he wouldn’t know what was needed, wouldn’t be able to help when it mattered. Captain Sisko was warm and comforting and always stayed within reach of his superior officer status, ready to pull back into the distance of command. Kira and Odo were kind but had never quite gotten over the faint disdain of seeing Julian as stretching beyond his own limits, naïve and blindly optimistic.

But Garak? Garak also thought he was naïve, blindly optimistic, intense, and foolish, but he never dismissed that. He understood it was part of who Julian was, that flame of hope that burned so hot it hurt sometimes. And he kept coming back—to ridicule Julian’s Federation ideals, sure, but to hear them in the first place, and to teach him about Cardassia, to show him how grey the universe really was. Sure, they used it to argue and scuffle and mock and convince, but Garak spoke Julian’s dialect. And Julian spoke Garak’s.

Maybe Phlox hadn’t been completely wrong.

“There…might be,” Julian hedged.

Hoshi got off her machine and stepped up to his, briefly placing her hand on his on the handlebar of the treadmill. “I hope you get back to them,” she said. “People like that are important, I think.”

She left, and Julian reflected that he’d rarely been so content about having been completely brushed off.

***

After more time on the treadmill by himself, Julian took himself back to his assigned quarters and showered—a water shower, an odd luxury that underscored the difference of this ship yet again—and put on his jumpsuit uniform. Not wanting to return to sickbay yet, he asked his security guard where else he could go on the ship. When she suggested the observation bays, he readily agreed.

Staring out at the twin warp coils that so defined the _Enterprise_ ship line, Julian couldn’t help but feel the tug of awe that had been blunted by four years aboard a space station next to the only known stable wormhole in existence. The stars hung crisp and clear between the graceful, blue-streaked wings. _Likely don’t want to go anywhere until they figure out how to put me back_ , Julian thought when he realized the stars weren’t rushing past in the telltale smears of warp speed. He hooked his fingers over his trapezius muscles, thinking. If he could get back, what would he say? He could leave out Phlox and Hoshi’s observations from his official report, but could he sit in front of Garak and ignore them?

Did he want to?

It wouldn’t make sense to announce something as idiotic as “I have more than a crush on you” to a friend who already put up with so much. Nor was it good timing as the station readied itself on the front lines of a war. And both of them had so many secrets to keep, from the world and from each other—Julian was under no illusions that Garak wouldn’t figure out there was something… _more_ to Julian if they were to get any closer.

_Is there anybody back home who speaks your dialect?_

Julian looked at the crystal-clear stars and the patiently waiting warp coils and let himself wonder what it would be like if he could choose to say exactly what he wanted, for once.


	7. Chapter 7

“And like I was saying, Mal—”

“Don’t call me Mal—”

“—was right on the money when it came to using protonic force—”

“It was really building off of the commander’s observation—”

“—and I think that the ratio could be tweaked to show—”

“Gentlemen!” Phlox interrupted. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed went silent. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but might I ask _why_ you are standing in my sickbay to tell me about protonic ratios?”

“Oh, sure!” said Trip enthusiastically. “I think we’ve figured out how to send our future guy home.”

***

“Phlox to Dr. Julian,” Julian heard from the wall on the other side of the observation deck. He shook himself out of his reverie and crossed to the comm panel. “Ba—Julian here,” he said, cursing inwardly.

“Doctor, I have a very excited lieutenant and commander here who would like to speak with you. Could you please come to sickbay?”

Excited? If they were excited, that probably meant—“I’m on my way,” Julian said, and headed off at as fast a clip as his long legs could go without running, his much-shorter security escort scurrying along behind him.

“Doctor?” Julian said when he reached sickbay. “Lieutenant? Commander?”

Malcolm and Trip exchanged glances, obviously pleased with themselves. Malcolm, however, smoothed out his features, settling into a more professional mode. “Doctor, I believe we’ve found a way to get you back to your own time,” he said.

Julian’s heart did a small flip in nervous anticipation. “You believe?”

“There are a few more simulations we’d like to run, but we have the basic idea.”

“Wow,” said Julian. “Wow, thank you. I’m—oh, no.” A sudden thought popped the bubble of his hope. “Did I just help you invent time travel? Because that would _really_ mess with the timeline.”

Malcolm and Trip looked at each other again, a whole unspoken conversation sparking between them. _They speak each other’s dialect_ , Julian thought in the back of his mind.

“Naw,” said Trip, “we can’t replicate this to do as we want. You’re already from somewhere else, which means you can give us the time and conditions of where you’re going and we can sort of work through statistical proofs for the calculations. But without having a fixed future point, we can’t reverse engineer the math that gives enough space for the number of variables. You know?”

Julian didn’t, but he had a general idea. “Good,” he said. “I mean, I know I’m not your first time-traveler, but I’d hate to think I altered something so fundamental as humanity’s access to time-travel.”

“I take it it’s not a regular occurrence for you, then?” asked Malcolm.

“Thankfully, no. I’ve only travelled one other time and it was…educational, for sure, but not pleasant.”

“Well, rest assured that we won’t be coming to visit you any time soon,” said Trip.

Julian was surprised to find that he was actually sad at the thought. He would have loved to introduce Trip to Miles and show Malcolm around Ops, letting Phlox run through the infirmary’s comparatively vast database and sitting with Hoshi in the Replimat while all the new arrivals from the ships filtered through with their hundreds of languages that the Universal Translator so easily smoothed over. He had only been on this ship three days—how was it that he wanted to be friends with this crew he barely knew?

“So we’re going to run those simulations, but we should be ready to give this a go in a couple of hours,” Trip was saying, and Julian nodded as the pair bustled back out.

“Well, I imagine this is exciting news for you,” Phlox said into the sudden silence.

“What? Oh, yeah; yeah, of course. Always better when we’re all in our own timelines,” replied Julian awkwardly.

Phlox looked at him with such kindness that Julian wanted to melt into the floor. He felt entirely too seen by this doctor he’d so admired in his textbooks.

“Doctor—” they both said at the same time. Phlox smiled and Julian laughed self-consciously.

“After you,” Phlox said.

“I—I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” said Julian, rubbing the back of his neck. “About this morning. I…I mean, you are very—well, I—but I know this isn’t—”

“Julian,” interrupted Phlox, his voice gentle, “as I said, I am flattered. You are an attractive human with a fascinating mind. But even were you from this time, there are few worse reasons to get involved with another than in deliberate ignorance of a choice already made.”

“So you think I’ve made a choice?”

Phlox’s smile danced in his eyes. “I think you’re the only one who doesn’t know it yet.”

Julian exhaled heavily. “How on earth am I going to explain this to him?”

“Time travel?”

“No,” Julian said with a glare. “ _Not_ time travel.”

“I would start by not seeing it as an explanation,” replied Phlox, unperturbed by Julian’s annoyance.

“Then what?”

“As a realization, perhaps.” Phlox folded his hands in front of him, tapping his thumbs together. “After all, he feels much the same.”

“What?” laughed Julian. “You’ve not even met him!”

“No,” Phlox conceded, “but you don’t strike me as the type to speak with such enthusiasm about people who only tolerate you.”

Julian swallowed hard. _Half the station only tolerates me, really_ , he thought, _which is an improvement over my first year._

“What I mean,” said Phlox, noting Julian’s silence, “is that you speak of him fondly. And with great admiration. If he didn’t return at least some measure of your affection, I doubt there would be such fondness in your anecdotes.”

“But what if it’s not the same level of affection?”

“Is the current state of things so wonderful that you would refuse to upset them?”

Julian shrugged. “I don’t want to lose him as a friend.”

“I have not personally met a Cardassian,” mused Phlox, “but I know enough about them to think that they are a pragmatic sort. I doubt you would lose the friendship simply for voicing a different view of it.”

A pause settled between them until Julian broke it. “You know, I always wondered if they exaggerated the tales of you being ship’s therapist as well as ship’s doctor in the biographies of you, but I can see they didn’t.”

“Biographies, plural?” said Phlox in a tone of amazement. “Well. That seems somewhat excessive.”

“Phlox,” chuckled Julian, “you have no idea. The biographies are the least of it.”

“Really!” Phlox seemed completely floored by the idea. “How unnecessary.”

“No,” said Julian, earnestly, “very necessary. You are even better than the textbooks said, Dr. Phlox, and if I could tell my younger self that I’d get to meet you, he would be over the moon. _I’m_ over the moon, and so very grateful. You’re worth every statue and then some, Phlox.”

The Denobulan’s supersmile was even more fascinating than the pictures Julian had seen.

_***_

Julian was surprised to find himself reluctant as he changed back into his teal-and-black uniform, setting the jumpsuit on the bed for whatever passed for reclamation in this time. He had half a mind to take the outfit with him as a souvenir, but he could only imagine the apoplectic horror of the Department of Temporal Investigations at willfully filching something from the past. He ran his fingers over the teal piping on the shoulders and fondly bid farewell to the many pockets. Maybe—maybe he could get Garak to make him a jumpsuit, just for fun?

The thought of Garak pushed Julian back into readiness. He had to go home because he absolutely had to have a conversation with one infuriating Cardassian. Julian squared his shoulders, looked around the crew quarters one last time, and left with his security guard trotting along beside.

It seemed half the command crew had appeared to see him off, and Julian got a swooping fear in his stomach that something would go wrong with the calculations and they would watch him graphically half-dematerialize instead. He shook himself out of the alarming image and reached out a hand to Ensign Mayweather.

“It’s been good to meet you, sir,” Travis said enthusiastically. “Glad you could watch a movie with us.”

“It was genuinely my pleasure,” Julian said. “Good luck on the ongoing mission!”

Hoshi was next and Julian fought back his desire to hug her. She sensed it anyway and held out her arms; he had to bend almost double to reach her, but the feeling of hugging a friend was just right. “Remember to have the conversation the way you want, okay?” she whispered into his ear.

“Thank you,” Julian said, squeezing her tighter before letting go and straightening up. He moved next to Phlox. “It’s been an honor, Doctor,” he said.

Phlox held up a palm and Julian was shocked to realize it was the Cardassian form of greeting. He looked at Phlox, who smiled softly, and then held his palm against the Denobulan’s for a few seconds.

“The honor was mine, Doctor,” said Phlox. “I wish you all the luck.”

Julian nodded his gratitude and moved next to Captain Archer.

“Well, Lieutenant, I hope this works.”

“Yes, sir,” said Julian, shaking his hand. “Captain—”

Archer cocked his head.

“I—remember the way you felt on the first warp test?”

Confused, Archer nodded.

“Hold onto that. Okay?”

“Trying to tell me my future, Lieutenant?”

“Trying not to, sir. But reminding you to hold onto that kind of wonder.”

“Because I’ll need it?”

Julian shrugged.

“I will keep it in mind. Have fun in the future.”

Julian stepped up on the transporter pad where Malcolm and Trip were making last-minute adjustments. As Julian found his space within a circle, they finished and headed back toward the console. Trip paused to hand Julian back his tricorder. “Figure you should probably have this back.”

Julian almost wilted with relief. He’d completely forgotten that they’d confiscated the device and shuddered to think of what it would mean to leave centuries-advanced technology behind. Trip patted him on the shoulder and was about to follow Malcolm when Julian snagged his sleeve to make him pause. “Thank you, both,” he said.

Trip grinned. “Wouldn’t thank us ‘til you’re safe back home,” he said.

“No, I mean—” Julian looked at the assembled crew, at Malcolm’s implacable expression, and lowered his voice. “Thank you for who you are, together. You paved the way."

Trip looked back at Malcolm, shocked, and even Malcolm let his composure slip just a little. “Are you—” began Malcolm.

“It’s a much different time, the 24th century,” Julian said with a smile.

The pair shared a glance that said a thousand things. “Be safe, Doctor,” said Malcolm, and Julian felt like he could not have had a better benediction.

Assembling themselves behind the control console, the Enterprise crew members waved at Julian one last time. “Thank you, all,” said Julian. “This has been quite the unexpected adventure.”

“Try to stay in your own time, hey?” said Archer. “Commander, Lieutenant; energize.”

Julian watched the crew until he dissolved fully into the crackling blue beam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julian is referencing his adventure to the 21st century in "Past Tense," which is brilliant and painfully on the nose here in the actual 21st century.
> 
> With Trip and The Math, I do not math so well but I think we sometimes lose that Trip is freaking brilliant. He would have to be, as chief engineer of the flagship of Starfleet. So I like giving him moments where he's as smart as he actually is (and in which Malcolm thinks that is very attractive indeed).
> 
> With Trip and Malcolm, you're dang right I'm writing a wish fulfillment arc of there having been a Star Trek where characters that were decidedly not straight (hi Malcolm) could actually be so rather than get hidden by not being in a relationship or getting shoved into a heterosexual pairing (fuck you, Rick Berman). Malcolm and Trip paving the way for relationships among crewmen in general as well as homosexual relationships just makes my little bi heart happy.
> 
> And with the aside to Archer, that's my nod to the fact that I think Archer went waaaaay far away from any kind of morality or Starfleet oaths in the Xindi mess and I'm still mad about it. I'm all for grey moral choices, but that stuff was Section 31-level awful and I wish someone had told him to remember wonder while he was busy tossing his integrity out the airlock.


	8. Chapter 8

“Where the bloody hell have you _been_?” Julian heard as he stumbled forward on the transporter pad. He patted himself down; all of him seemed to be there. He grinned as O’Brien came up the stairs of the Ops transporter to check him out himself; they had done it. He was home.

“It is so very good to see you, Chief,” Julian said honestly, clapping his friend on the back. “How long was I gone?”

“Four hours,” rumbled Captain Sisko’s deep voice. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” said Julian. He remembered his tricorder and flipped it open, disproportionately happy to see it light up and chirp at him as he scanned himself. “Yes, definitely all right.”

“Thank you, Chief, for your efforts. Doctor, would you come to my office? I would like to hear about what was happening for you in these four hours.”

Julian followed the captain and grinned again at O’Brien. “Thank you for whatever you did to get me back,” he said as he passed. “Your efforts worked wonderfully with the ones on the other side.”

“Other side?” questioned O’Brien. “Wait, were you—”

The doors slid shut behind Bashir and Sisko and Sisko gestured him to a seat. “So, were you conscious of the last four hours?”

Julian grimaced, settling in. “Actually, sir, it was three days for me. And it’s not where, but when—I was on the _Enterprise_. The original.”

Sisko stared at him for a second. “Temporal Investigations?”

Julian nodded. “Temporal Investigations.”

Sisko groaned and motioned for him to continue with his story.

***

All things considered, it could have been a much worse debriefing, but that didn’t stop it from being tremendously long. Julian would have to sit down with Temporal Investigations again once he’d submitted his formal report, but no red flags of timeline shifts had popped up and he and Sisko were cautiously optimistic that Julian had stayed sufficiently far away from anything life-changing.

Well, by temporal standards, at least.

Julian was worn out by the time he was released from Sisko’s office and stopped to reassure Miles that he had not been in the Mirror Universe and oh, was he looking forward to a shower and getting out of this uniform still covered in the stain of now-dried-and-flecking-off blood from someone else. He was glad to hear that someone else had stepped in to do the surgery for his patient and that said patient had made it safely to the infirmary; for whatever reason, it was only Julian who had gotten caught in the crossed beam. Amidst the welcome-backs and what-happeneds of Jadzia and Miles and even Kira, trying not to look like she was too interested, Julian kept thinking ahead to who he very much needed to see. He begged off an early evening at Quark’s and went instead to the shop of one much-thought-of tailor.

“Garak?” he called out as he entered the shop.

“Doctor!” said Garak, coming out of his back storeroom. “Doctor, are you injured?”

Julian looked down at himself and rethought his decision to see Garak before showering. “Um, no, this is from the medical emergency—today? That would still be today for you.”

“For me?”

“Well—look, I’m sorry I had to leave lunch; that was still today, right?”

"My dear doctor, you seem rather out of sorts. Perhaps you’d like to go back to your quarters and try this again later?”

“Yes, yes, that might be wise. I just wanted to let you know I was back—you…you knew I was missing, right?” Julian hated the note of anxiety in his voice, hated the realization that if Garak hadn’t even noticed then why would anything else be worth trying…

“Doctor,” said Garak, crossing the shop to Julian. “I am glad you are safely returned.” _Of course I knew_ , Julian heard in the dialect they shared.

Julian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “That’s—good, that’s good. Look, I know I’m a mess right now and I need to take a shower and you’re working but I needed to talk to you because I’ve had a really weird couple of days—well, I guess it’s only been a day for you—but you won’t believe where I’ve been and I probably can’t tell you much about it because Starfleet will classify it but you always find your way around things like that anyway, don’t you, if you really want to know a thing—”

“ _Doctor_ ,” cut in Garak, gently wrapping his hands around Julian’s shoulders. “Breathe, Doctor.”

The pressure of Garak’s hands melted away the panic and uncertainty and left only Phlox and Hoshi’s gentle smiles of support. “Garak, I’ve spent three days somewhere and somewhen that I definitely shouldn’t have been and I thought I was falling for a Denobulan but it turns out I’ve been in love with you this whole time.”

Were it one of their lunch conversations, Julian would have crowed victory over the unfiltered shock on Garak’s face before he pulled himself together and hid the emotion away. “Doctor, that’s quite—”

“Nope, Garak, let me get this out and then you can tell me how I should feel instead, please? You are infuriating, and brilliant, and you always make space for me and I feel like I can be myself with you and I want to let you be yourself with me and I know you think that you’re terrifying and dangerous and you may be right, but that doesn’t change the fact that I just spent three days and two hundred years missing you and wishing that I could kiss you. I choose you, Garak, and all the uncertainty that comes with you because we’re at war now and any number of things could happen tomorrow and I don’t want to keep telling myself that it was right for me to choose anything other than telling you how much I want to map every inch of you and never stop learning how you taste. Could I kiss you?”

Garak opened his mouth, closed it, stared. Julian began to wonder if maybe he’d misread everything, if Phlox and Hoshi were wrong after all, when Garak tightened the hands still on his shoulders and pulled them together for the softest, briefest kiss. Julian grinned and wound his arms around Garak’s waist, deepening the kiss and feeling Garak’s slightly-too-cool lips against his own, the texture of Garak’s tunic under his fingertips, tasting tea and spice and chocolate on Garak’s tongue. Needing air, Julian pulled back and rested his head against Garak’s.

“I really should go take a shower, but…would you, ah, would you come by in about an hour?”

“To your quarters?” said Garak, clearly still out of sorts.

“Yeah. I mean…if that’s okay. We can have dinner to make up for the lunch I had to leave. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Garak’s blue eyes _(how could he have confused those eyes with another’s?)_ glinted in suspicion and curiosity. “More still? My goodness, it must have been an eventful disappearance.”

Julian laughed. “No, it’s pretty much this same thing, but I want to tell you about where I was and what happened before you go hacking into the database.”

“I would never,” murmured Garak in token protest, and Julian kissed him lightly before breaking out of their embrace. 

“See you soon,” he said, heading toward his quarters and not looking back at the stunned Cardassian with the slightly disheveled hair he left behind.

***

As he wrestled his hair back into submission, missing the water shower of _Enterprise_ , Julian looked down with a fond smile at the picture pulled up on his computer console. Phlox, Hoshi, Trip, Malcolm, Archer, and Travis smiled merrily back up at him, T’Pol pleasantly glowering in the background, frozen in time at the beginning of their mission. It felt so strange to miss people he had barely gotten to know, but Julian knew that connections were unpredictable like that. He reached down and traced a finger over Phlox’s ridges around those startlingly blue eyes. “I’m glad you made it, Doctor,” he said softly.

The door chimed and Julian looked up, smoothing down his shirt and hoping he looked presentable enough for one with such selective tastes. With one last look at the crew photo, Julian crossed to his door, opening it with delight. “Welcome, Garak. Please, come on in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else get a bit verklempt at the publicity photos from the various Treks of the whole crew together? Just me? Okay then.
> 
> Huzzah for Garashir! Thanks again to the organizers of the Fest; this was a fun challenge I wouldn't have tackled otherwise.


End file.
